


Black and Blue

by Poecilotheria



Category: Kirby - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Gijinka verse, M/M, Sort of a pairing, sort of Dark being an irrepressible man whore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2018-12-02 09:42:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 15,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11506773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poecilotheria/pseuds/Poecilotheria
Summary: When you're a narcissist with sexual deviancy in place of morals, you tend to behave a little strangely towards your reversed counterpart.





	1. Mirror Mirror

Meta had once thought mirrors were beautiful. He found their clean, precise panes of glass and their illusion of depth fascinating. He had lost that inclination when his shadowy counterpart locked him within one and shattered it. Meta had hoped dearly that Dark was gone for good after being shattered by Kirby, and then again when he returned only to be defeated by Dedede. At least until Dark himself appeared in his bathroom mirror one morning shave, laughing and gloating about how Mirror-Worlders only temporarily shattered. Meta had found at least one upside in that Dark was unable to pass through to his side from a regular mirror. Unfortunately he was still subject to the doppelganger’s morally deficient ramblings.

“Good morning, my dear Meta. My, you seem a little rough around the edges,” Dark tittered, standing where Meta’s reflection should be. Meta shot back a withering glare.

“You say that every time you see me,” he grumbled. He felt his chin, pleased that it was suitably smooth. Facial hair was not a great look for someone whose natural hair color was blue.

“Well, perhaps you simply look dreadful every time I see you. Ever consider actually brushing your hideous blue mop,” Dark replied languidly, studying his nails. They were as perfectly maintained as the rest of him.

“Ever consider leaving my bathroom mirror,” Meta snapped, reaching for his toothbrush.

“It’s mine as well,” Dark countered, gesturing at the bathroom behind him. It was covered in an assortment of hygiene and beauty products that looked offensively pricey. The fixtures were all black tile, white marble and silver spigots.

“I’m not the one with the ability to gaze through mirrors,” Meta shot back. His side was quite utilitarian, composed of simple tile and steel. On another occasion Dark had mocked Meta for a solid 40 minutes over his cost-effective approach to hygiene products and his lack of anything to “touch up his grossly neglected face.” He’d tried to leave, but apparently the stainless steel of his workshop was reflective enough for Dark to follow.

“Only one of my many traits that make me better than you,” Dark preened.

“What, your voyeuristic tendencies? Oh what a shame that my psyche isn’t a Freudian nightmare like yours,” Meta drawled.

You know, shaming me for my twisted depravities might actually work if I was at all ashamed of them,” Dark purred, revealing his perfectly white fangs in a devilish grin. Meta made a face like he’d just stepped in gum.

“Oh I’m perfectly aware of that. You are remarkably descriptive about them,” he groaned. Many would find Dark’s silky voice and flirtatious mannerisms irresistible. He found the man about as charming as a seagull with chronic diarrhea.

“My morals are as absent as my gag reflex,” Dark added.

“If only you’d choke,” Meta said, not even waiting for a reaction as he loaded his toothbrush with toothpaste. He steadily and thoroughly cleaned his teeth, trying not to think about how they were both slightly yellow and slightly crooked compared to his counterpart’s flawless dentition. Whatever, his fangs were larger anyway. He became acutely aware of Dark’s single remaining eye staring him down as he spit out the toothpaste and rinsed.

“I gue-“

“If you make some insipid comment about spitting or swallowing, I will find a way to get through that mirror and I will wear your intestines as a necktie,” Meta snarled, causing Dark to actually recoil. Meta definitely had him beat when it came to pure intensity.

“And you accuse me of being depraved,” Dark quipped, running a hand through his perfectly coiffed hair. It returned to its original appearance, no doubt loaded with products as expensive as the average car.

“You are, by your own admission, a manipulative tyrant who thrives off of the darkest impulses and desires of your fellow man,” Meta said flatly. Dark pressed a hand to his cheek, feigning coyness.

“Aren’t you quite the charmer?” Dark paused, and made a sweeping motion with his hands “Go on.”

“I really ought to shatter this wretched mirror,” Meta sighed, leaning over to splash his face with cool water. Dark laughed, the sound hypnotic and borderline intoxicating. They may share the same voice, but Dark knew how to use it to its full potential.

“That’s what, the tenth time you’ve said this? Face it, you’re too intrigued to chase me away,” Dark chuckled. He quieted, and leaned forward, a deadly smile on his lips. “Too fascinated by how evil you could be,” the words were like poisoned honey, creeping into and sticking in Meta’s mind. Meta shuddered, leaning back an equal amount. He met the others gaze, expression fiery and steeled in equal amounts.

“As you are fascinated with how noble you could be. How clean and untainted you could be,” he said. His voice was as cutting as his blade. Something sparked in the other’s eye, but was quickly extinguished.

“It’s a morbid curiosity. It’s interesting to see what I would look like were my considerable sex appeal stripped away,” Dark said, narrowed eye betraying just the barest hint of genuine anger.

“You say this like I care” Meta said, mourning the loss of their briefly serious conversation. Dark gave Meta an appraising look, tapping on his chin.

“Although… We do share the same face, even if your style and grooming habits are atrocious. If you put just a little effort in maybe you wouldn’t be such an embarrassing mess,” he said.

“I am… How do the youth put it? Ah, yes. A hot mess,” Meta said, sarcasm dripping from his tongue. Dark let out a snort before clapping a hand over his mouth and composing himself.

“‘The youth’? We aren’t that old,” Dark chuckled. It was a surprisingly warm and genuine sound. His usual malevolent grin quickly found its way back onto his face. “Or, at least, not old for our kind.”

“Hm,” Meta responded, retrieving a towel from a small closet and looping it through a metal bar affixed to the wall. He gave a glance at his shower. It was enormous by all standards, custom built for accommodating his wings. He looked back at Dark. “Leave now,” he hissed.

“Oh? Not going to put the ‘show’ in ‘shower-“

“ **Now**.”

“Very well. See you soon,” Dark purred, hoping he’d put enough huskiness in his voice to make the other uncomfortable. He leaned back in his chair as the mirror faded back to show his own reflection. He sighed and allowed himself to slouch out of the careful posture he usually held. Despite the fact that Meta was simply him from a parallel dimension, he was still terrifying and exhausting to face off with. No manipulation or mind games with him, only pure intimidation and sheer willpower. In his own realm, he was a feared tyrant. But he had no hold over Meta, no leverage or advantage. It was terrifying and tantalizing in equal measure.

Dark pushed his chair back and stood, stalking off to vent his frustrations on whatever poor bastard crossed his path first.


	2. On the Wall

                Dark strode through his palace, inky black coat trailing behind him.  He was of royal blood in this world, once the crown prince but now the king following the fall of Dark Mind.  His castle reflected both his opulent tastes as well as his sense of style.  The main corridor to the throne room was a thing of wonder.  Its walls were entirely lined with flawlessly cleaned mirrors, intricate light fixtures hanging down from the tall vaulted ceiling.  Priceless artifacts lined the hall, resting atop velvet cushions and carved obsidian pedestals.

                Nothing, however, could compare to the throne room itself.  It was an enormous, circular room, with intricate carvings of black stone lining every wall panel.  The gorgeous carvings told the history of Dreadland through their glimmering black tapestries.  The throne itself was Dark’s pride and joy.  It was a flawlessly etched combination of polished platinum, shimmering obsidian and sparkling sapphire.

                “Ah, my taste is flawless,” he breathed, gazing at his throne.  Humility was only for beings less flawless than he, after all.  The only thing that shattered the perfect ambiance was the smaller throne beside it.  It was a rectangular, almost utilitarian fixture of black marble and grey cushions.  It was like a sad, bootlegged version of his glorious masterpiece, though he supposed it suited the personality of its creator who was currently occupying it. 

                “New coat?” Shadow Kirby drawled, not even glancing up from his novel.  He didn’t need to look to know Dark was wearing something new.  He went through expensive couture at an incredible pace, and Shadow swore he didn’t let anything with a price tag under four figures to touch his skin. 

                “Of course,” Dark preened, doing a brief heel turn to show it off.

                “Looks nice,” Shadow mumbled.

                “You aren’t even looking,” Dark snapped.  Shadow closed his book with a sigh, and looked up.  He stared the man up and down, before shrugging.

                “Looks the same as the rest,” he deadpanned.

                “What?!  Do you know how many endangered animals went into making this coat?  It’s practically a wearable mass extinction!” Dark sputtered. 

                “You can’t go one day without being horrible, can you?” the child sighed. 

                “Nope,” Dark quipped, emphasizing the ‘p’.  Shadow rubbed his temples.  If only his dear brother had an ounce of morality, his life would be so much easier. 

                “You were talkin’ to your Dreamland self, right?  Try being more like him.  He’s got those pesky things called honor, a sense of duty, and morals,” Shadow huffed.  He recoiled slightly when Dark loomed over him, eye glowing a malevolent red.  He hated how he could do that on command.

                “I tried those, remember?  I got my eye gouged out in exchange for my kindness and mercy,” he hissed, voice low and dangerous.  Shadow flinched.  He remembered all too well, finding Dark crouched on the steps of the castle, screaming as blood pooled below him.  It had run down the steps like some sort of twisted red carpet, leading him to his broken sibling as he clutched his eye. 

                “Right, got it.  Sorry,” Shadow said quickly.  Dark flashed a smile that was more akin to baring his teeth than anything.

                “Good!  The sooner you learn how dangerous being kind is, the better,” he said brightly.  The sound of someone clearing their throat caused Dark to turn and Shadow to gaze over his shoulder.  A large man in a silken black robe stood in the archway, a perfectly neutral expression on his face. 

                “My lord, I have urgent news.  We’ve located the last shard of the Dimensional Mirror,” the man said, booming voice echoing through the open space.  Dark grinned wider, fully exposing his wickedly sharp set of teeth.  Shadow Dedede only offered a thin smile before returning to his usual neutrality.  Brick walls were more emotional.

                “Excellent!” Dark said, turning to look at the space behind his throne.  The cursed mirror stood there, golden frame missing one final chunk of glass.

                “Of course, it will only be one-way until the Dreamland side is restored as well,” Shadow Dedede interjected. 

                “I am aware,” Dark snapped.  Ugh, dimensional portals were such a pain. 

                “He’s gonna go in himself and fix it himself,” Shadow supplied.  Dark raised his hand to smack him upside the head, but Shadow Dedede interrupted the imminent assault.  

                “You what?!” he cried.  Dark gave Shadow a look that promised future pain, and turned back to his subordinate.

                “The Dreamlanders have no doubt hidden away the pieces after the havoc I’ve caused.  I intend to teach them a lesson about taking things that aren’t theirs,” Dark said venomously. 

                “With all due respect, sir, you technically only own this side-“

                “Shut.  Up.”

                “Right.  That is irrelevant.  Even so, you cannot just go off into another dimension for an unknown amount of time!  You have a kingdom to run!” Shadow Dedede urged.  Dark waved his hand in dismissal.

                “You and Shadow are more than capable of filling in.  It isn’t like it’s hard.  Threaten to slaughter our enemies, follow through if necessary, and pretend to care when the next inevitable tragedy happens!  It’s easy!  I only laughed twice when that hospital burned down last month!”

                “You told the grieving families that you ‘expected a warmer welcome’,” Shadow deadpanned.

                “And I kept a straight face, didn’t I?” Dark retorted, puffing out his chest.

                “You did proceed to ask them if anybody smelled bacon, sir,” Shadow Dedede added.  Shadow snorted.

                “He also told them that they might as well designate the whole place as a burn ward.”

                “And how he didn’t know that they provided in-hospital cremation.”

                “And when he decided to-“

                “ENOUGH!” Dark roared, grabbing Shadow Dedede by his collar and yanking him down to eye level.  “Shut your insipid mouth and go retrieve that shard **immediately**!”

                “Of course, your majesty!” he sputtered.  Dark released his iron grip, and the larger man scampered away down the hall, not even glancing back.  He then turned to his brother.

                “Jeez, I was only teasing,” Shadow muttered, hunching his shoulders and crossing his arms.  Dark closed his eye and took a deep breath, his usual smirk sliding back onto his face.  His eye then snapped open, glowing blood red.  Shadow gave a terrified smile, and skittered out of his throne, dodging under the enraged man’s legs and sprinting out of the throne room.  Dark let out a suitably evil cackle as he watched him flee.

                “Don’t sleep!” he called out gleefully.  They may be a king and a prince, but first and foremost they were siblings.  And as the elder of the pair, it was his duty to torment his dear little brother every day of his miserable life. 

                Dark turned back to gaze at the dimensional mirror.  He strode around his throne to stand before it, admiring his reflection.  Finally the ugly missing shard would no longer mar _his_ beautiful mirror.  And then…

                He held out his hand, lightly touching the cool glass.  An unnatural band of light slid across the mirror, distorting his reflection.  Dark gazed at his handiwork, grinning.  The person in the mirror had two golden eyes as opposed to his single remaining pale yellow one.  Wild indigo hair sprouted from his head, and his skin was a warm brown as opposed to Dark’s pallid complexion.  A flawless replica of Meta stared back; following Dark’s every move like a true reflection.  His grin looked so unnerving and wrong on the facsimile’s face, and only became more twisted as it widened. 

                Then he would pay his dear counterpart a little visit.             

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to think that the roles in the mirror world are switched up. Also, I'm treating Kirby Clash Deluxe as non-canon within this story, so Dark Mind never reappeared.


	3. Who's the Fiercest...

                “You should really use your bed once in a while.”  Meta snapped awake, reflexively hurling an eraser at the source of the noise.  Sailor Dee let out a startled squeak as it bounced off of her nose and fell to the floor.  She then watched her esteemed leader stare at her with drool dripping off of his chin.

                “S-sorry about that,” he muttered, snatching a tissue from the box on his desk and wiping his face clean.  He set to work on the puddle left before him as Dee sighed, rubbing her nose.

                “Anyway… you’ve been holed up in your office the whole day, so I came to check on you.  Got any work done, or are you just napping?” Dee quipped.  Meta looked up from the drool-stained paper he was holding at arm’s length and huffed.

                “I was merely resting after drawing up some schematics-“Dee grabbed one of the scattered papers before he could react and studied it.  It appeared to be a crude drawing of Meta with rippling muscles on a throne as multiple equally poorly drawn subjects groveled around him.

                “The mini masks on the nipples are a nice touch sir,” she snickered.  Meta snatched the paper back and shoved it into the wastebasket.

                “I’ve just been… rather uninspired today,” he sighed, gathering all of the papers that had fallen victim to his drooling and sliding them into the trash.  Meta grabbed one of the few actual schematics and studied it.  It was an intricate diagram of a device capable of firing pieces of metal at high speed through the use of a combustible powder.  Apparently he’d reinvented the handgun whilst half asleep.

                “You know, nobody would judge you for taking a day off once in a while,” Dee said gently.  Meta sighed again, and slid a form from the edge of the desk before him.  It was an exceedingly complex order for a multitude of vital materials.

                “I would really rather not let this work pile up.”  He shuffled a few more pages around, searching for the measurements he needed.  He finally found the proper sheet, only to find the calculations half finished.  Meta was an engineer, calculations and measurements were his bread and butter.  But right now the thought of even beginning to complete the paper made his arms feel like lead.  

                “I’m perfectly capable of handling this for a day.  You hired me for a reason, you know,” Dee offered.  Sailor Dee was in no way a proficient fighter, but her intellectual capacity made her a vital component of Meta’s crew.  He’d never seen anyone program faster and she was more accurate than anyone he knew when it came to mental math. 

                “You have your own duties, and I would rather not overburden you,” Meta mumbled, reading the same line of numbers for what must have been the tenth time.  Dee gave him a heart wrenchingly concerned look, and he averted his eyes.  She was an angel in the body of a Waddle Dee.

                “What’s wrong?  Something’s eating at you,” she asked.  Meta grimaced.

                “If I tell you, you have to let it remain a secret from the others,” he groaned.  Dee perked up, interest piqued.

                “Of course!  What’s bothering you then?” she chirped.  Meta drummed his fingers on his desk, chewing his lip anxiously. 

                “You are aware of my… Mirror World counterpart, correct?” he began. 

                “Yeah, you told me about him…” Dee said, anger clouding her usually cheerful countenance. 

                “Well, apparently he doesn’t die but rather temporarily shatters before reforming,” Meta continued, tenting his fingers in front of him.

                “Oh, right!  The King encountered him during the Floralia incident, correct?  Even though I’m pretty sure he embellished the fight a little bit, he did say that Dark Meta Knight shattered into glass upon defeat.  And you told us about the incident with the Dimension Mirror where Kirby shattered him as well!  Is that like a Mirror-Worlder trait or something?” Dee babbled. 

                “You are exceedingly astute as usual.  Yes, apparently those from the Mirror World cannot suffer permanent death, but rather shatter temporarily before reforming,” Meta said. 

                “But King Dedede said he shattered the Dimension Mirror as well.  Why is Dark Meta Knight even relevant if he’s still trapped in a parallel dimension?”

                “Apparently his abilities are not what I assumed them to be.  Though he cannot utilize them to cross over, he can use regular mirrors to contact those in our realm,” Meta explained, watching the realization dawn on Dee’s face.

                “He’s been contacting you?!” she squeaked. 

                “It’s more akin to bothering me than anything.  I can barely even use mirrors anymore, he replaces my reflection!  I went to a meeting with doodles all over my helm because I couldn’t see them!” Meta ranted, gritting his teeth. 

                “Woah woah woah, he talks to you?  What does he say?” Dee urged. 

                “Absolute drivel is what he says.  He insults my appearance, compliments his own, propositions me, insults my tastes-“

                “ _He propositions you_?!” Dee squealed, putting a hand over her mouth.  Meta rested his face in his hands.

                “He’s some sort of malignant narcissist.  I’m sure he’d just as soon tape a mirror over some poor sod’s face and go at it,” he snorted.  Meta squinted at Dee as she let out a short laugh.

                “Sorry, that’s just really weird,” she tittered.  Meta shook his head as he realized his important discussion had devolved into petty gossip and steeled his expression.

                “I’m certain that he is attempting to lull me into a false sense of security.  There is no conceivable way a megalomaniac like him isn’t harboring a grudge against our dimension,” he said.  Dee folded her arms and nodded, her expression turning serious as well.

                “We should warn the people guarding the shards, as well as the King.  He has the frame, so I’m certain he would be struck first in the event of another attack,” she offered.  After the latest incident, the Dimension Mirror’s shards had been scattered, given to different people to safe keep.  Meta shook his head.

                “There’s no way for him to enter our realm.  The only way for the mirror to be reassembled is for someone from this realm to gather the pieces,” he explained. 

                “Couldn’t he manipulate somebody?” Dee asked.

                “All of the shard holders are aware of his treachery.  Even if he convinces one to assist him, he’ll have the king and seven others to contend with.”

                “Right.  So you think he’s just annoying you because he’s trapped?”

                “Correct.  It’s just a pathetic final power play,” Meta growled, snatching a pen to angrily fidget with.  Dee frowned, giving him a sympathetic look.

                “Maybe avoid mirrors for now?  He’ll lose interest eventually, right?” she soothed. 

                “Perhaps, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction.  That pompous, self-important, egotistical wretch is going to lose this little game of his,” he hissed, gripping the pen tighter.

                “No need to get all worked up!” Dee said, backing away slightly.  Meta would never harm his crew in anger, but he was still a terrifying sight to behold when properly enraged.

                “Waltzing into _my_ home and insulting _my_ intelligence-“his grip finally exceeded what the pen could withstand.  The loud crack of plastic buckling foretold the spray of black ink that spattered both Meta and his desk.  He slowly looked at the dark splotch across his chest, and then at the puddle of the stuff on his desk.  Meta let the remains of the pen slide out of his hand, and took several deep breaths.  Dee eyed the vein still throbbing on his forehead.

                “Now just calm down-“

                “GODDAMNIT!”  Meta slammed his fist down onto his desk, splattering the ink puddle everywhere.          

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's headcanon city up in this bitch! In all seriousness, there will be more Dark and Meta interaction in the next chapter.


	4. Of Them All?

                Dark lounged in his bed, leaning against the backboard with his arms crossed behind his head.  He was clad in a luxurious silken black robe, and he had a smug grin plastered across his face.  The final shard had finally been returned to the mirror, and he had gathered all of the necessary supplies for his plan.  They sat in the corner within a backpack, looking out of place among all of the exquisitely expensive items scattered atop the plush carpet.  He would depart in the morning, but for now he allowed himself to indulge in one last bit of hedonism.

                Dark’s bedroom was as needlessly extravagant as everything else he owned.  It was mostly composed of reds and blacks, the style an eclectic combination of Victorian intricacy and modern geometric shapes.  His enormous bed seemed almost comical compared to the small man on top of it, shaded from the overhead light by a ruffled black canopy.  An untouched desk and a well-used vanity occupied the opposite end of the room, and a cluttered dresser and nightstand stood on either side of the bed.  A floor-length mirror was affixed to the inside of his door, and multiple paintings and photographs were hung from the walls.  Most were of Dark, though one featured the entirety of the castle staff and another showed Dark and Shadow smiling in the foreground as Dark Mind stood over them proudly.  The clothing strewn around the room was all in shades of red, black and navy.  An incredible variety of red and black boots were lined up outside of his closet.

                Dark turned his head to the side, looking at a small mirror propped up on his nightstand.  He had intended to torment Meta through it before he was able to do it in person, but the man had yet to appear.  He slid one of his hands out from behind his head to study his nails in boredom.  He started slightly when the sound of a faucet came from the mirror.  Dark grinned wickedly and tapped the mirror, his clawed finger clicking against the glass.

                “Fancy meeting you here,” he purred, batting his eyelashes.  He was quickly fixed in a familiar golden-eyed glare. 

                “Are you aware of the Bloody Mary legend?  You are somewhat similar, though even less pleasant,” Meta huffed, scrubbing the ink from his hands. 

                “Aw, did you say my name three times?”

                “Bloody moron, bloody moron, bloody moron…” Meta growled, rinsing the ink-stained lather from his hands.  He looked up and feigned surprise.  “Ah, so the legends are true.”

                “Yeah okay, very clever.  But I’m not the one covered in, erm, ink?” Dark quipped, eyeing the dark splotches on Meta’s face. 

                “Pen malfunction.”

                “How do you fuck up using a pen?” Dark cackled. 

                “I was doing actual work, which may be an alien concept to you.  And the pen I was utilizing to complete said work suffered a catastrophic failure and ejected its contents onto me,” Meta snarled, picking dried ink flakes from under his nails. 

                “How harrowing,” Dark yawned, stretching.  His robe slide from its precarious position on his chest, splaying out around him and exposing his torso.  He was lithe and lean, though his upper body and arms were considerably more muscular than the rest of him.  Two wicked scars ran parallel to one another across his abdomen, marring the otherwise flawless alabaster skin. 

                “You aren’t laying there in the nude, are you?” Meta asked, curling his lip in disgust. 

                “I’m not naked.  I have my robe,” Dark tittered, neglecting to mention that he was indeed wearing silk pajama pants.  Meta visibly recoiled, cheeks darkening slightly.

                “You had better keep both hands where I can see them, you exhibitionistic deviant!” he hissed. 

                “You say the most romantic things,” Dark sighed, resting the back of his hand on his forehead in a mock swoon.  Meta only glared at him before wetting a washcloth and dabbing at his face, trying to feel for where the ink was. 

                “It is difficult to properly insult you as there is always the nagging feeling that you are somehow deriving sexual gratification from it,” he mumbled, a mildly haunted look on his face. 

                “I’ll admit that I find it entertaining, but it is far from sexy,” Dark dismissed, sinking further back into his pillow.  He turned his eye to Meta lazily.  “It’s the things unsaid that tantalize somebody.”

                “Things unsaid…?” Meta asked, his curiosity speaking for him. 

                “The implicit is just as important as the explicit.  You can say a lot with the spaces between words.”

                “That was almost profound.  I am impressed,” Meta drawled, tone dripping with insincerity.  Dark closed his eye, smirking.

                “If I could wink, I would.  Winking is something you really come to miss with one eye.  That, and 3D movies,” he quipped.

                “What about depth perception?  Or peripheral vision?”

                “I’ve adapted well enough.  I always manage to keep an eye on things.”

                “That was so horrific that I am not even going to consider it an attempt at comedy.  Disgusting,” Meta huffed.  Dark put his hands up.

                “They can’t all be winners.  My incredible wit only lasts so long,” he sighed, putting a finger to his chin in a mocking gesture of thought. 

                “My patience for you is even briefer.  I’ve pressing matters to attend to,” Meta murmured, setting the now stained towel on the side of the sink.

                “What, tired of me already?  Should I take my robe off?”

                “Once I am gone you may do whatever you wish,” Meta snapped, heading for the door. 

                “Anything-?”

                “Not that,” Meta added, before slamming the door behind him.  Dark frowned and rolled over, propping his head up on one arm.  Well, there went his source of entertainment.  He sighed and shuffled around so he could slip beneath his heavy, luxurious comforter, resting his head on a black pillow.  His frown melted away as he comforted himself with thoughts of the mayhem he would wreak on Dreamland and the pathetic fools within it.  He let out a long, deep laugh filled with malicious glee.  Dark then remembered he was alone, and giggled shrilly instead.             

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little bit of a filler chapter. Action picks up in the next one though. Enjoy!


	5. Déjà-You

                Shadow resisted the urge to worry his lip, and instead fidgeted with the comb in his sweatshirt pocket.  The comb was heavy and unusually cold, owing to the fact that it was ornately carved out of iridescent black stone.  It was heavy enough to annoyingly pull at his pocket, and the thick tines made it all but useless for actually combing his hair.  But it was a gift from Dark, and though Shadow was loathed to admit it, the smooth surface was exceedingly soothing to fidget with.  And Shadow certainly needed soothing at the moment.

                Dark looked radically different that he usually did.  He was clad in jeans and a black jacket with a pair of thick-rimmed glasses balanced on the bridge of his nose.  The scar on his face had been nearly totally concealed with makeup and his usually empty eye socket was occupied by a glass eye.  The usual vivid red eyeliner he wore was absent and his thick black hair was pulled back into a small ponytail.  He looked like a hipster douchebag, and Shadow would have told him so were he not so anxious.

                “They’ll never even notice me,” Dark chuckled, attempting to push up his glasses but only succeeding in planting a large fingerprint in the middle of his lens.  He huffed and quickly cleaned off the spot before replacing the glasses on his face.

                “Yeah, sure.  Nobody’ll notice some boy-band reject runnin’ about,” a woman interjected, punctuating her sentence with a snap of her gum “You’d think with as long as you lingered in the closet you’d know how to dress yourself.”

                “Shut it, Dee!” Dark hissed.  Officer Dee rolled her eyes, and popped another bubble.  She was a compact, sturdy woman clad in a military coat with the sleeves torn off.  An officer’s cap rested atop her frayed slate-colored hair, and she carried a suspiciously weapon-shaped bag slung over her shoulder.

                “Show some respect, Officer.  I trust you have everything you need, Sir?” Shadow Dedede asked, arms folded stiffly behind him.  Dee quietly mimicked his words, rolling her eyes again.

                “Yeah, I’ve got everything.”  Dark patted the backpack slung over his shoulders to emphasize his words. 

                “Then I bid you good fortune,” Shadow Dedede said, bowing slightly.  Dark started at a tap on his shoulder.  He turned to find Shadow staring firmly at the floor.

                “Don’t get yourself shattered again.  I hate piecing you back together,” he mumbled.  Dark gave his brother a crooked yet genuine smile, and ruffled his hair. 

                “I’ll make sure I don’t inconvenience you,” he teased, relenting as Shadow swatted his hand away. 

                “Whatever,” Shadow huffed, cheeks red and hair sticking in every direction.  Dark chuckled softly, and turned to the Dimensional Mirror.  A band of light slid across its surface, revealing a blank white expanse. 

                “Auf Wiedersehen!” he called, waving over his shoulder as he vanished into the mirror.  Shadow Dedede relaxed as soon as he was gone, pressing a hand over his heart.  Shadow Dedede was a naturally anxious man, and he’d suffered many a heart palpitation at the hands of Dark’s recklessness.  Dee grimaced and walked over, patting him on the back as he wheezed.

                “Relax, big guy.  When he comes back in a shoppin’ bag I’ll put em back together for ya,” she drawled.

                Dark slipped into the other side of the mirror, and immediately tumbled onto the floor, tangled in a dusty white sheet.  He coughed and sputtered, his pointed black nails extending and revealing themselves to be a wickedly sharp set of claws.  They cut through the cloth like paper, and  
Dark freed himself, extricating the tatters of fabric from his needle-like talons.  There were certainly advantages to being… whatever he was.  Dark pushed the momentary existential crisis to the back of his mind and crept across the room.

                It was a large basement, filled with various antiques and aging furniture covered with sheets and cobwebs.  Dark’s eye easily pierced through the gloom, noting the strangely familiar layout.  So this was what his beloved trophy room looked like in Dreamland.  He wrinkled his nose, toeing an errant bauble out of his path.  What sort of utter slob left valuables to gather dust where they would never be seen?  He crouched slightly as he came upon several framed portraits depicting a somewhat regal figure, looking closely. 

                “Dedede…” he muttered bitterly.  Being shattered by his own servant’s doppelganger was humiliating, and he bore no small grudge for it.  He dragged his claws through the canvas, and continued on, bloodlust momentarily sated.  Dark continued on until he reached a bare staircase that lead up to a wooden door with light softly seeping through the cracks.   He surveyed the wall nearest the exit and silently moved a chair, sputtering at the whirlwind of dust he kicked up.  He produced a piece of chalk from his pocket, and began drawing an elaborate frame.  The frame lifted and solidified as he drew, forming into an intricately twisted silver frame.  Dark pocketed the chalk and delicately touched a finger to the blank space within the frame.  Glass spread from his touch, crackling and spreading like crystal until it reached the frame and stilled.  The newly formed mirror would serve as his gateway to and from the Dimensional Mirror’s frame. 

                Dark admired his handiwork.  He was the most powerful of Dreadland’s mirror mages, and his abilities lent themselves well to his crafty ways.  Dark replaced the chair, and turned to ascend the staircase, slipping soundlessly through the door. 

                The hallway he slipped into was bright and colorful, lined with reds and yellows.  Dark scanned up and down the corridor, before turning right and stalking off.  If his instincts were correct, this castle would have a layout that was identical but flipped compared to his own.  He darted through several different corridors, keeping his ears pricked.  They were elongated and pointed, and allowed him to pick up on the faintest of sounds.  The footsteps of patrolling guards echoed ahead, and Dark turned into what he was certain must be the courtyard.  He stepped into a grand hall, and darted through it, remaining behind the pillars as much as possible.  There was an archway ahead, and two figures milling about the room beyond it.  Dark felt his blood freeze as he recognized them, and he immediately scanned around for a mirror or reflective surface to hide within.  As he came up empty, he turned his gaze upward, and sighed. 

                “I simply cannot add any more thrust to the rocket hammer.  The handle would not withstand such forces,” Meta sighed, meandering half a step behind Dedede as they strolled back inside.  Dedede seemed to consider this, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

                “Could ya make another one?” he asked.  Meta snorted and put a hand to his mouth to muffle the sound, though the gesture was useless over his helm.

                “Oh?  Duel wielding them?  I am certain your enemies would cower in fear as you spun like a centrifuge and vomited,” he said.  Dedede crossed his arms.

                “I ain’t no centry-fuse.”

                “Centri _fuge_.  It is a machine that spins things rapidly,” Meta supplied.  They crossed through the atrium into the hall, footsteps muffled by the long red carpet. 

                “Eh, whatever it’s called.  Maybe you could make it shock people?” Dedede amended.  It was Meta’s turn to look thoughtful.

                “A blunt force Taser, hm?  That does seem rather fascinating…” he muttered.  Meta suddenly stopped, standing stock still.  Dedede stopped as well, turned back to give Meta a funny look.

                “Uh, Meta?”

                “Shh.  Did you hear that?” Meta asked, ears twitching beneath his helmet.  High above them, Dark clung desperately to a stone arch, claws leaving deep ruts in the rock.  He dug in deeper, desperate to halt his slow slide downward.

                “…No?  You feelin’ okay?” Dedede asked, shifting awkwardly.  Meta tilted his head.

                “From above.  An awful scraping noise.  Have you had troubles with vermin?” he said, still unmoving. 

                “Not unless you count Kirby,” Dedede responded dryly.  Meta turned to give him a look that was equal parts amused and irritated.  Several small pebbles fell between them, clattering across the floor.  The two instantly turned serious, and looked up to the source.  They each scattered backward as a figure with tattered wings landed awkwardly between them.  A sword and a hammer were instantly pointed at them as they straightened up, obviously favoring their right leg over the other.  If the wings didn’t give it away, the malevolent yellow eyes did.

                “Dark!” the two Dreamlanders yelled. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meta: It's probably not the first time you've been sandwiched between two men.  
> Dark: >:0


	6. Doppel-Anger

The errant mirror world resident stayed facing Meta, though he kept glancing back at Dedede. 

                “F-fancy seeing you here,” Dark sputtered, touching a hand to his injured leg.

                “I live here, mirror-douche,” Dedede shot back, hefting his hammer higher.  Dark’s slight smirk turned into a scowl, and he slipped a sliver hilt from his inner pocket.  Metal flowed from it like water as he swung it in an arc, forming a silver broadsword with a gleaming sapphire set in its hilt. 

                “You are plainly outmatched, Dark.  Slink off back into your wretched kingdom and accept your defeat,” Meta snapped, pressing the point of Galaxia to his back.  Dark arched away from the blade and spun on his heel, bringing his sword down on Meta’s with a deafening clang.  Meta slid backwards from the force, barely managing to halt the heavier blade.  He shifted so that Dark’s weapon was caught in one of Galaxia’s spines, and wrenched at the blade.  It slid through the spike and embedded itself into the floor just as a large hand grabbed the back of Dark’s coat and flung him sideways.  He slammed into a wall and tumbled gracelessly into a heap.  His single eye looked up to his opponents, red with hatred.

                “Fucking assholes!” he spat, slapping an open palm to the floor.  A glimmering ridge of razor sharp glass raced towards Dedede as Dark lunged for his sword, conjuring a mirror clone to occupy Meta.  The sound of shattering glass filled the hall as Dedede repelled the attack with a well-timed smash of his hammer.  Meta darted forward, shattering the clone and deftly snatching the blade before Dark could reach it.  The air around him seemed to momentarily warp, and suddenly the knight was standing beside the king, holding the pilfered blade beside him.

                “It would do you well to surrender, lest you be sent back in a dust pan,” Meta said, eyes alight with malice.  Dark charged at him, kicking up glimmering clouds of crushed glass.  He leapt back as Dedede’s hammer came within inches of his head.

                “Watch it you fucking oaf!” Dark snarled.

                “Somethin’ somethin’ glass houses.  I ain’t clever enough to think of anythin’,” Dedede admitted, staying at the ready.  Dark glanced between the two, cold panic creeping up his spine.  His plans couldn’t fall apart this quickly!  He used his foot to kick up a cloud of glass dust, ducking beneath the blind hammer swings that resulted and following the call of his cursed blade.  A kick landed to his stomach with shocking force, throwing him back and causing him to fall into a wheezing heap.  Meta stepped out of the swirling dust after him.

                “You cannot blind somebody wearing a visor you absolute imbecile,” he said, giving Dark a look utterly soaked in condescension. 

                “You broke my fucking ribs you maniac!” Dark choked, curling in on himself.  Every breath was absolute agony.  Usually fights he lost ended in him being shattered, so the pain was a novel experience. 

                “Ain’t you a peach?  Nova, my eyes…” Dedede groaned.

                “Enjoy exfoliating your eyeballs, dickhead!” Dark shot back, still writhing on the floor.  Meta strolled over and gave Dark’s stomach a light jab with his foot, eliciting another agonized noise. 

                “Glass bones, perhaps?” he tittered.  Dedede quickly stepped forward, positioning himself beside Meta.  The man’s sadistic tendencies were best left to the imagination.

                “Let’s toss him back now, let his cronies deal with him,” he offered.  Meta kept eye contact with his friend as he lifted his foot over the cowering man. 

                “I’ve already accumulated more than my fair share of bad luck.  What’s seven more years?” he asked. 

                “I don’t want to sweep him up.  I also don’t wanna see your murder fantasies,” Dedede added. 

                “The hell is wrong with you?” Dark groaned.

                “It was only a jest,” Meta said, feigning hurt.  “I do suppose that I’ve had my fill of schadenfreude though.  I will even retrieve the mirror frame so that you needn’t walk.”

                “Sorry to say, but… you’re stuck with me,” Dark said, smirking.  “With only my side complete, it’s a one-way trip.”  The two Dreamlanders looked at each other for a long moment, before Meta turned and darted off down the corridor without a word. 

                “Meta?!” the king called out.  There was a long stretch of silence, and he took stock of Dark’s condition.  The man smiled cruelly as they made eye contact.

                “Hey, want to make a bet?  What’ll kill you first: heart disease, or me?” Dark cackled, though the laughter quickly morphed into painful coughing.

                “Can it, ya little gremlin,” Dedede responded.  Meta reappeared at the end of the hallway before Dark could respond.  The large golden frame of the Dimensional Mirror was clasped in his hands, dwarfing the small man.  He darted towards Dark, and before a single word could be said he fiercely swung the frame downwards, smacking the metallic backing squarely over the man’s head.

                “Go through the damned mirror,” Meta hissed, smacking him a second time. 

                “Ah!!  What is your major malfunction?!” Dark shrieked, shielding his already injured chest. 

                “I will not have you lurking about with your insipid comments, constant inanities, and ridiculous hair!  I will develop an aneurysm!” Meta barked, continuing his assault.

                “My hair is effortlessly sophisticated you brute!”

                “THAT is what you focus on?!”  The frame was mercifully wrenched from Meta’s grasp and held high above his reach by Dedede.

                “Convinced now?” Dark huffed, lightly touching the goose egg forming on his head “If I could, I’d have fled this looney bin as soon as I’d had the chance!”  Dedede sighed, and set the frame beside him.

                “You know what this means, right?” he asked.  Meta nodded.

                “We have to kill him.”

                “No.  We gotta get the mirror back together so we can boot him back to his own place.”  Dedede leaned against the frame, rubbing his face.  “All while baby-sittin’ him.”

                “Quit bending the frame, tons-of-fun!” Dark snapped.  The other two gave him a brief look before returning to their conversation. 

                “You dealt with distributing the shards, so it stands to reason that you should be tasked with retrieving them,” Meta said, calming slightly.  Planning was something he took solace in.

                “And you make sure he don’t cause a ruckus,” Dedede finished.  Meta froze.

                “On second thought, my diplomacy skills are more than adequate.  Allow me to gather the shards.”

                “I don’t really want this guy around the Dees.”

                “I am certain that they are capable.  Bandanna Dee in particular can hold his own against most anyone.”

                “Well, he’s your reflection, so…”

                “I feel like I’m in a custody hearing!” Dark squawked.  Meta gave his counterpart a long look, and turned back to the king.

                “Very well.  I hope you are aware that it is only through a deeply felt platonic bond that I am willing to subject myself to this,” he groaned.

                “Love ya too, buddy,” Dedede responded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mean characters are fun to write. Also watch your mouth Dark.


	7. Out of Sight...

                Meta wondered idly what he could have possibly done to deserve this level of cosmic retribution.  He then realized he could probably make an alphabetized list of his misdeeds and began wallowing in self-pity with decidedly less self-reflection. 

                “You know, this entire situation is going to taint my enjoyment of bondage,” Dark whined.  He’d been securely restrained in a wheelchair for ease of transport, as his broken rib precluded him from walking easily.  The chair was old and stained with some mysterious biohazard, having been dug out from an old storage room in Meta’s base. 

                “I am certain that you will find some other form of depravity to entertain yourself with,” Meta snapped, gesturing angrily with his pen.  He returned to the mound of paperwork on his desk, which he considered to only be slightly more aggravating than his current captive. 

                “Oh definitely, watching you fill out those forms has me all hot and bothered.  Notarize me daddy!” Dark shrieked, cackling loudly at Meta’s affronted look.  He then winced and went silent from the resulting pain in his chest.  Their fight had severely degraded whatever Dark had used to conceal his scar.

                The scar was a dull pinkish tone that still managed to stand out against Dark’s unnaturally white skin.  In fact, now that he was without makeup Meta realized Dark’s skin was truly monochromatic, with slate-colored lips and gray bags beneath his eyes.  His usually tousled and styled hair was beginning to protest against whatever products he had used, the ends fluffing out and curling up in a manner similar to Meta’s own.  Dark seemed far more like a real person in this disheveled state.

                “You really are going to do paperwork the whole time, aren’t you?” Dark sighed.  Meta halted his silent visual appraisal, and narrowed his eyes.

                “That is entirely dependent on the time needed to return you to the Mirror World.  I have many other tasks to accomplish as well, and I refuse to allow your presence to preclude me from doing so,” he said.  Truthfully, he ached to return to several of his projects in his workshop, but he loathed the thought of pushing his charge around the base.  He hated the thought of being unable to directly supervise him even more, which took the option of dumping Dark on a crew member off the table.

                “What are you, some kind of glorified murderous accountant?  Live a little!” Dark chided. 

                “The more exciting aspects of my lifestyle are supported by such monotonous endeavors,” Meta responded.  Truthfully, he shirked paperwork as often as possible, either by passing it off on a crew member or “losing” it and daring clients to challenge him.  Dubiously legal weapons contracting was far from a by-the-book operation, even without Meta’s own enormous arsenal and penchant for destruction.  But they’d open an ice-rink on Hotbeat before Meta would admit that to Dark.

                “I have no clue how you can manage to sound so boring while also being able to murder a man with your bare hands.  It’s incredible.  Every time you open your mouth it’s like an event horizon of sexual appeal.  All this shit going for you just vanishes into the ether of your droning babble,” Dark drawled. 

                “The only time you have ever brought any sort of enjoyment by opening your mouth has been on your knees,” Meta snapped back.  Dark’s eye widened, his eyebrows rising in a comical expression of shock and slight offense.  Meta noticed the silence and sheepishly returned to his writing.

                “That was brutal.  Nice,” Dark quipped, forcing a painful-looking fake smile.  Meta frowned, letting his pen go still.  Did his remark actually… _hurt_ Dark’s feelings?  He quickly dismissed the thought, shaking his head.

                “You truly aren’t going to let me work in peace, are you?” he hissed, pressing his pen harshly against the paper and watching a gleaming mound of ink form.

                “I have literally nothing else to do.  So yes,” Dark responded, shrugging as much as he could with his restraints.  Meta let out a long sigh and massaged his temples.  Dark noticed the gesture and gave a cat-like smile.  “How about a tour of the facilities?  I’d love to take a look at your equipment.”

                “I will show you the aircraft hangar if you will agree to remain silent afterwards.  And no, I will not justify your little double entendre with a response,” Meta huffed, resting his head on his hand.  Dark perked up at the prospect of entertainment.  And he would be lying if he said the prospect of seeing just what sort of aircraft his counterpart built didn’t excite him.

                “Deal,” he chirped.

                It was exceedingly difficult to leave Dark in awe.  He lived a life surrounded by the most lavish things his incredible fortune could buy, but this was impressive compared to even his most opulent buildings.  The hangar stretched to the very edge of Dark’s field of vision, and it was filled with a breathtaking array of air and spacecraft, with a few boats thrown in for good measure.  As his reluctant guide wheeled him closer, he noticed that nearly all of the machines were bristling with various weaponry. 

                “I thought you meant like, one or two fighter jets.  This is…” Dark trailed off into a rare loss for words.  Meta puffed up with pride somewhat at seeing his rival’s awestruck reaction.

                “An impressive catalogue is a must for any respectable business,” he said, letting smugness seep into his words.  Though the Halberd was his crown jewel, he was proud of every single one of the ships he constructed.

                “Business?  You’re a weapons dealer?” Dark squawked, incredulous.  He’d pegged Meta as a stuffy, by the books type, but he was proving to be far more of the roguish type.

                “I prefer the term military contractor.  These facilities are not free to build and maintain and staying on the cutting edge requires a steady flow of generous funds,” Meta responded, guiding them towards a row of smaller jets.

                “Contractor or not, these are definitely not regulation.  And that’s by Mirror-World standards.  It’s probably like double illegal here,” Dark observed.  He was startled by a barking laugh from Meta.

                “Heh, regulations.  By far the best joke you have told today,” he snickered.  Meta seemed far more relaxed and fluid in his movements, like he was discarding a façade.  He swept out an arm to present the machine before them.  It was both sleek and excessively lethal in appearance, with a long thin body and swept-back wings with upturned tips. 

                “This is the Cutlass III.  A fighter jet capable of supersonic speeds and capable of carrying up to thirty radar-guided missiles in addition to its four plasma guns.  Due to the small cold-fusion reactor powering it, it will only need refueling after a year of flight-time,” Meta said, pride evident in his tone.  For once, Dark would have to admit that the pride was warranted.  It was a seriously incredible piece of engineering.

                “I know that I tend towards sarcasm, but I will say with complete sincerity that that is the sexiest piece of machinery I have ever seen.  Can you paint it black?” Dark asked.

                “I do not talk business with hostages, nor do I sell cutting-edge weapons to my enemies,” Meta scoffed, crossing his arms. 

                “Damn shame.  Where’s the Cutlass I and II?”  Meta stiffened and conspicuously glanced away.

                “They… did not quite hold up under testing…”

                “And by that you mean…?”

                “The Cutlass I’s weapons system proved unstable and eventually targeted itself, resulting in a rather catastrophic disassembly.  We lost control of the Cutlass II during remote testing in the upper atmosphere,” Meta admitted, slightly irritated at the memories.

                “Nice.  Did you ever get the second one back?” Dark chuckled.

                “No, and since it was fully fueled it should still be rocketing through the atmosphere for approximately three more months.”

                “Where’s it going to land?”

                “Hopefully nowhere populated,” Meta sighed. 

                “It’ll probably hit an orphanage or something.  Push me closer, I want a better look,” Dark quipped.

                “Thank you for your optimistic input,” Meta sighed, obliging despite his irritation.  Dark watched his slightly murky reflection ripple over the metal surface of the jet, and a touch of homesickness clawed its way into his heart.  He quietly allowed some of his magic to flow out, causing his reflection to ripple and change.  Meta stayed back a short distance.  He’d allow Dark to contact his side, but he would have to do it under careful supervision.  As the new reflection became clearer, Meta caught a glimpse of red hair just before Dark suddenly shrieked in rage.

                “What the fuck are you doing in my- ah, fuck!” Dark slumped back down, pain blossoming through his chest.  Meta focused his gaze on the reflected figure and almost recoiled.

                “Susie,” he snarled, slipping a hand into his cape and around Galaxia’s hilt.  The woman looked at him with a red-lined grin, folding her hands behind her back.

                “I prefer the name Parallel,” she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm back. Sorry about sporadic updates, but I've been pretty busy. Anyway, here's some more serious conflict and a few more Meta headcanons. He's like a chaotic good or neutral that pretends he's lawful.


	8. ...And Out of My Mind

                The woman reflected in the cold steel was certainly not the Susie Haltmann Meta knew.  Her hair was a stark red and she was somewhat stockier than Susie, with defined muscles visible on her bare arms.  Dark was giving her a positively murderous glare.

                “Why are you in my castle, Parallel?” he snarled.  Meta glanced between the two, keeping his hand on Galaxia’s hilt. 

                “Taking what’s mine,” she responded, crossing her arms. 

                “I am the rightful heir!  How can you claim to have been my father’s most loyal ally when you ignore his wishes!” Dark spat, his eye glowing blood red “Where is my brother?!”

                “Dark Mind was going mad when he named you his heir.  Nobody in their right mind would choose such an unstable idiot to lead their kingdom,” Parallel drawled.

                “You disrespect his memory and his son?  You were only loyal when it benefited you!  Where did you put Shadow?!” Dark hissed.  The near permanent smirk he wore had disappeared, his lips pressed into a thin line.  Meta just stayed still, a look of clueless concern on his face.

                “You aren’t his son!  You are an abomination that was taken in out of pity!” Parallel snapped.  She paused to regain her composure and continued.  “Your brother is fine.”

                “Prove it!” Dark growled.  Parallel snapped her fingers, and a strange man stepped into view, dragging a bruised and resigned Shadow with him.  The man was clad in an extravagant purple and yellow coat, with two tri-colored horns jutting out from his head.  The fanged grin he wore reminded Meta of a new face he’d seen at Castle Dedede, though the man’s name eluded him.

                “Ta-da!  One ingrate prince!” the man cackled, dropping the poor boy to the floor.  Shadow’s torso was completely restrained with strange silk-like threads.

                “Hey bro…” Shadow mumbled, taking care not to disturb the painful bruise on his cheek.  Dark’s eye was now glowing with pure rage, adding a red cast to his features.  “And other bro,” Shadow added, looking at Meta.  Meta raised a hand awkwardly in greeting.

                “What did they do to you?” Dark asked, baring his fangs with every word.

                “I tried to fight em off, but it was two against one.  Nothing’s broken I think,” Shadow mumbled. 

                “How are the others?”

                “Fine.  ShadowDe, Officer Dee, and Sable Blade escaped.  The rest are down in the old dungeon,” Shadow said, “Listen, bro, you need to hurry.  They’re trying to let out Eclipse.”

                “WHAT?!” Dark shrieked.  “Are you absolute fuckwits completely insane?!  What kind of head injury does it take to think letting out that maniac is a great idea!?”

                “It is a necessary idea if we are to be rid of you,” Parallel sneered.  Meta turned to Dark, completely lost.

                “Who are they?” he muttered. 

                “Parallel Susie and Dark Taranza, CEO of Haltmann Incorporated and king of Rosalia respectively.  They’re considered excessively cruel even among Mirror-World residents,” Dark deadpanned, not even looking at his counterpart.  Parallel seemed somewhat irritated by the description, but Dark Taranza only gave a mocking bow. 

                “A coup, hm?  Yet they wait for your absence… They must be quite fearful of you,” Meta said, just loudly enough for the two invaders to hear. 

                “You insolent-! “ Dark Taranza was cut off by Parallel raising an arm to block him.

                “Enough.  We have work to do, and I don’t feel like being insulted by some pathetic Dreamlander,” she barked. 

                “I’ll be ok, Dark.  Just get back here quickl…”  The reflection faded away before Shadow could complete his sentence.  Dark let out a horrible noise composed entirely of concentrated rage, then slumped back as his rib began throbbing again.  Meta gave him a wide-eyed look.

                “They have control of the mirror.  Which means…”

                “They can stir up trouble here too.  Though I’m currently more concerned with the fact that they are ACTIVELY TAKING OVER MY KINGDOM!” Dark screeched, letting out a second noise as he aggravated his injury.  Meta chewed his lip. 

                “Who is Eclipse?” he asked.  Dark shuddered at the name.

                “Eclipse Galacta.  She’s a crazy bitch with a lance capable of permanently killing or injuring us Mirror-Worlders,” Dark said bitterly. 

                “I do not follow,” Meta said.  He folded an arm behind his back and fidgeted restlessly with his cape.  Not knowing something was always anxiety inducing to him, but he’d be damned if he let Dark know that.

                “Mirror-World residents can only be shattered permanently when their counterpart is killed first.  Additionally, our injuries do not truly scar, as we ‘reset’ when we shatter and reform.  Eclipse and her lance are the only things to break those rules.  She was an… ally of mine before she went mad and cut my eye out,” Dark explained.  Meta frowned, narrowing his eyes.  There was a connection to Eclipse that he was hiding, but Meta had a far more pressing question to pose.

                “What would happen if a Mirror-World being was destroyed before the death of their Dreamland counterpart?” he asked.  Dark shook his head, looking genuinely disturbed.

                “I have no idea.  She never managed to kill anyone before he sealed her away.  Er, Dark Mind that is.  He used some ancient mirror mage technique to lock her in a glass crystal.  She’d been sealed away by someone else when I released her, but I have no idea who…” Dark said.  Meta crossed his arms, digesting this new information.  If something horrible happened to a person from their world when their mirror counterpart was killed, they could potentially be completely unable to defend themselves.  He had to intervene somehow…

                “Whoa, watch it!” Dark squawked as Meta roughly grabbed the wheelchair and pushed it, speeding off down a corridor at a pace that sent jolts of pain from Dark’s chest with each bump.  Meta rounded a corner, nearly tipping his unwilling passenger over, and slipped through a doorway.  The room was mid-sized and cluttered with various medical supplies.  They skidded to a stop in front of one of the empty stretchers.

                “Hold still,” Meta ordered, his voice accompanied by a faint clicking noise and the flash of a switch blade.

                “Holy shit, I don’t want any of your DIY surgery!” Dark squealed, squirming despite the pain.  He fell still when he felt the rope fall away from his arm. 

                “Ungrateful _and_ high-strung,” Meta muttered, deftly slicing through the remaining restraints.  Dark stretched his aching limbs as much as he could.  “On the bed.”

                “You don’t need to ask twice,” Dark said sweetly, though his shriek of pain at moving his torso dampened his innuendo somewhat.  Meta kneeled beside the bed, aligning himself with the injured area.  “So what, you’re gonna load me up on painkillers?” 

                “No.  I am going to simply fix the issue,” Meta said.  An impossible breeze began to blow through the infirmary, ruffling the men’s hair.  Meta’s cape stretched and molded fluidly into his wings, and the faint outline of stars and galaxies began to show on the velvet-like membranes.

                “I should have known you were a mage,” Dark said, exerting a little of his own abilities to feel out Meta’s magic.  It felt like strong wind and biting sea-spray, as if an ocean gale flowed around his person.  There was something else there as well, beneath the wind and fury.  Something ancient and arcane, infused with the scent of entropy and decay.  It didn’t belong, but yet it lurked there, just beneath the plane of reality that Dark could sense.

                “Hold still.”

                “Wind mage, right?”

                “This is going to be exquisitely painful, yet brief.  Are you prepared?” Meta asked, ignoring the man’s question.

                “Painful?  I thought this was a healing charm or something!” Dark said.  Meta rolled his eyes.  Dark was such a primadonna…

                “Did you truly believe that knitting a bone back together sans anesthesia would be painless?” he asked, giving Dark a flat look. 

                “I mean, when you put it that way…” Dark mumbled, scowling.  Meta put his hands over the broken rib.

                “Are you ready?” he asked.

                “Oh ho ho, can’t keep your hands off of me-“

                “ARE.  YOU.  READY?” Meta snarled, losing his patience rapidly. 

                “As much as I can be,” Dark mumbled.  Meta let out a deep breath and relaxed, allowing his energy to flow into his palms.  A pale light washed over Dark’s chest, bringing with it a nearly unbearable yet strangely pleasant heat.  Meta was totally focused, gazing unblinkingly at his work.

                “Brace yourself,” he said.  Dark had barely processed his words before he went ramrod straight, mouth agape in a silent scream.  It felt as if Meta had jammed a white-hot knife beneath his rib and was now attempting to pry it out.  There was a final crescendo of pain accompanied by a sickening wet clicking sound, and it was over.  Dark slumped back into a relaxed position, his eye hazy and brimming with tears.  Meta put a hand to his chest, panting.  Healing magic certainly took its toll on him, though he knew he’d recover quickly.

                “Holy fucking shit,” Dark whimpered, a tear running off his face and disappearing into his hair.  Meta gave him a distinctly unsympathetic look as he stood and dusted off his knees. 

                “It was only one rib.  Compose yourself,” he huffed.  Dark carefully sat up.

                “You are such an asshole,” he sniffed, wiping his eye.  Meta shrugged.

                “I can live with that.  Now come, we have work to do and people to shatter,” he said.  Dark felt his chest to ensure that the pain was gone, then stood.

                “Oh, I’ll do more than just shatter them,” he grumbled, cracking his knuckles.  Meta raised his eyebrows at the display.

                “Indeed.”  He retrieved his helm from within his cape and slid it on, pausing before he led Dark out of the room.  “Ah, I remember now.  You should request an X-ray whenever possible.”

                “Uh, why?  It’s useless if it’s healed, right?” Dark said suspiciously. 

                “I am far from adept at regenerative magics.  Medical imaging should identify any… unwelcome anatomical changes you may have incurred,” Meta continued sheepishly.  Dark’s eye twitched.

                “WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY _CHANGES_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Team Kirby Clash's storyline is not canon here, but the characters still exist. Also Meta can heal himself in every incarnation of the Meta Knightmare game modes so I figure him having healing abilities is canon.


	9. The Best-Laid Plans of Knights and Men

                Meta sighed harshly as the call ended, wishing that Dedede had called his landline instead so that he could properly slam the phone down in frustration.  Once again, his best laid plans had gone awry.  The door to his office opened and he looked up, prepared to share the bad news.

                “Our plans have hit a- _What are you wearing?!_ ” Meta shrieked, nearly dropping his phone.  Dark leaned against the doorway, smirking.

                “Don’t you recognize it?  I found it in your closet, after all” Dark tittered, slipping a heeled boot through the long black coat.  The front of the coat was intricately designed, with Meta’s insignia over the right breast.  Dark’s arms were covered by gloves that stopped just short of his armpits, with both the gloves and boots being composed of a shiny, latex like material.  Meta knew this material well, as it was the imperfect and uncomfortable precursor to his current uniform.

                “You were in my closet?” Meta growled, bristling.  Dark shrugged.

                “You did tell me to grab some armor since all of mine is back in Dreadland,” he said, adjusting the captain’s hat perched on his head. 

                “From the armory, yes.”

                “Well, I figured that you would have the best shit.  And boy was I right,” Dark preened, walking up to Meta’s desk and stretching his leg out over it.  “Micro-woven metal, right?” he continued, patting the material.  Meta scrambled to catch the items scattered off his desk, scowling deeply.

                “Yes.  It was scrapped due to how uncomfortably it wears,” Meta hissed, shoving Dark’s leg off his desk.

                “Naw.  You totally scrapped it because it’s pure undiluted fetish fuel.  I actually can’t believe you wore this,” Dark laughed, performing a small heel-turn to illustrate his point. 

                “I only wore it for a year.  Now if you will quit frolicking about I have important news,” Meta huffed, massaging his temples.  Dark pressed his palms to the desk and leaned forward.

                “Lay it on me,” he quipped.  Meta folded his arms, entirely unimpressed.

                “The final shard holder is refusing to relinquish it until meeting you.”

                “What?!  Who is it?!” Dark screeched, losing his usual lax composure.  “I’ll flay the bastard alive!”

                “Taranza,” Meta said, neatening his desk.  Dark groaned and put his head in his hands as Meta reached into his cape and grabbed a small wreath of paper.  He tossed it onto his desk with a sharp crack.  “Once the loyal servant of Queen Sectonia, now ambassador of Floralia following her death.  As I understand it, you played a significant role in the Floralia incident.  I assume that there is some sort of bad blood between you two?”  Dark snatched the papers and quickly scanned the front page.  “Floralia Incident” was printed in bold across the top, with a brief summary below.  The bottom half was labeled “participants” and included three rows of portraits.  Sectonia was listed first, the label of “deceased” beneath her photo sending an icy chill up Dark’s spine.

                “Yeah,” Dark murmured, gazing at the picture.  His own photo was further down, though it was only a vague sketch.

                “Care to elaborate?” Meta asked, gently prying the papers away from Dark’s grip.

                “Look, I never meant to cause what I did, OK?  Her and I… we were going to rule both dimensions together.  I didn’t realize what that magic would do to her…”  Dark said, looking away.  Meta quickly flipped through the file before folding the pages back and sliding it towards Dark.  He pressed a finger over the pertinent passage.

                “So you supplied the magic that transformed her?” Meta pressed.  Dark looked sadly at the page.  Sectonia’s name was printed across the top, with several photos accompanying it.  Some were from before her transformation, and his gaze lingered on those, suppressed regret bubbling up and catching in his throat.

                “I only gave her the book.  I didn’t know how far she’d go!  I didn’t know…” Dark trailed off, clearing his throat.  “This isn’t even relevant,” he continued, rage creeping into his tone.

                “It explains why Taranza may be so eager to meet you,” Meta said.

                “He’s already met me.  What he wants is a fight.”  Dark paced the office briefly before once again stopping in front of the desk.  “And he’ll get one,” he continued, cracking his knuckles. 

                “Are you prepared?”

                “Definitely.”  Meta met Dark’s uncharacteristically fierce stare and nodded.

                “Very well.  Come with me,” he said, standing.

                The hangar they entered now was smaller than the previous one, but no less impressive due to the equipment within.  These machines all shared the Halberd’s color scheme and were emblazoned with Meta’s insignia.  The clicking of the two men’s boots echoed sharply around the space as they walked up to a sleek jet.  This aircraft lacked the obvious armaments of the others and bore Meta’s name as well as his logo on each side.  The area in front of the craft was bare, and sunlight filtered over the shining metal from the open hangar door.

                “We’re riding in style, huh?” Dark quipped, resting his hands on his hips and appraising the jet.  Meta nodded, a smug grin beneath his helmet.  If there was one redeeming factor about Dark, it was his consistent ability to bolster Meta’s ego.

                “The Xiphos is a first-class travel jet complete with hidden plasma cannons and radar-foiling alloys.  Taking into consideration your impaired flight, we will be utilizing it to travel to Floralia,” he said, gesturing grandly. 

                “None of these rocketing around the upper atmosphere, are there?” Dark chuckled.  Meta deflated slightly and gave Dark a reproachful glare as he grabbed a sleek remote from his cape.

                “No,” he grumbled, clicking a button and watching as a staircase quickly extended from the Xiphos.  The door slid open and Dark excitedly dashed up and into the craft, followed by Meta.  The interior was sleek and dark, composed of black leather and shining chrome.  Dark quickly hopped onto one of the long seats that curled around a flawless reflective table.  He looked almost as if he belonged there, with Meta’s old uniform matching the aesthetic perfectly.

                “Now this is more like it,” Dark purred, crossing his legs and leaning back.  Meta rolled his eyes.

                “Normally I would eschew such extravagance, but such faffery impresses clients,” he said, closing the door and retracting the stairs with another click of the remote. 

                “Aw come on, this is sweet- Hey!” Dark squawked as Meta snatched the hat from his head.  He placed it on his own and adjusted it until it sat perfectly straight.

                “A captain’s hat should be worn by the captain, yes?” Meta quipped.  Dark reddened slightly, wondering how the other man must have looked in the full uniform.

                “Jerk,” he huffed, chasing away his thoughts.  Meta shrugged, and continued to the cockpit.

                “I can deal with that.”  He sat down, clicking his seatbelt into place and performing a check on all the instruments.  Meta started up the engines, the sound nearly imperceptible within the insulated cabin.  The craft jerked slightly as it began taxiing out of the hangar, sunlight sliding over it to fully illuminate the Xiphos.  The jet turned, revealing a long runway that ended a few feet from the ocean. Meta throttled up the engines and the Xiphos slowly gained speed until it was racing down the runway.  He grabbed the intercom.  “Fasten your seatbelt.”

                “You don’t control me,” Dark huffed, glancing around for any sign of a liquor fridge.

                “Very well,” Meta responded, setting down the microphone and suddenly pushing the throttle to full power.  The jet took off abruptly, sending Dark over the back of the seat and into a painful heap.

                “You fucker!” he screeched.  There was a moment of silence before malicious laughter crackled through the speakers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaaaaack! My other fics will be updating soon as well!


	10. Worst Impressions

                The Xiphos touched down on the castle’s courtyard, kicking up a generous amount of dust.  The roar of its engines cut out, and the staircase slowly descended.  The sleek jet looked horribly out of place among the lush gardens and bejeweled décor.  Dark darted out of the cabin door and raced down the stairs, running to the edge of the courtyard and falling to his hands and knees.  The sound of his retching greeted Meta’s ears as he exited at his own leisurely pace, spinning the keys to the Xiphos around his finger.

                “I would have never thought you of all people would possess a strong gag reflex,” he quipped, walking over to Dark after locking the aircraft.

                “Fuck you!  You were rolling the plane!” Dark snarled, wiping the drool away from his mouth.  Meta shrugged.

                “Just some necessary maneuvering,” he said, folding his arms behind his back and leaning over Dark. 

                “Bullshit,” Dark croaked.  Meta chuckled maliciously and set his hat back onto Dark’s head, straightening it in a patronizing manner.

                “Are you finished?” he asked, smirking beneath his helmet.  Dark flipped him the bird and staggered to his feet, still woozy.  He allowed his head to stop spinning before straightening his jacket and brushing the dust from his knees.

                “If we didn’t have such important business I’d be kicking your ass up and down this courtyard,” Dark snapped, jabbing a finger into Meta’s chest.  Meta responded by grabbing Dark’s wrist and painfully twisting it before using his foot to shove the man backwards.

                “Do not touch me,” Meta hissed.  Dark quickly recovered from the shove and rubbed at his wrist, grimacing.

                “You’re back on the shit list,” he spat.

                “I was unaware that I had ever left it,” Meta deadpanned, crossing his arms.  Dark opened his mouth to say something but was quickly cut off.

                “There you guys are!” Dedede said, walking up to the two men.  Meta immediately strode over to meet him, with Dark trailing behind in a dejected manner.

                “I apologize for the delay.  Is Taranza waiting within the castle?” Meta asked.  Dedede nodded.

                “Yeah.  DMK better be careful; he seems angry,” he responded.  Dark put his hands on his hips, scowling.

                “My kingdom is at stake!  I don’t have time for vendettas!” he huffed, gesturing angrily as his eyes tinged red.  Meta walked quickly towards the castle, not even glancing at Dark.

                “Then do not create them,” he intoned.  Dark resisted the urge to stamp his foot into the soil in a distinctly bratty manner, instead choosing to put his hands on his hips.  Dedede just glanced between the two, a strange look on his face.  Dark caught his gaze and rolled his eyes.

                “Is he always this bitchy?” he muttered. 

                “Watch it, he’s my friend,” Dedede shot back.  He then mulled over the question.  “But yes, yes he is,” he amended. 

                “Wow,” Dark murmured.  The three made their way to the castle doors and Dedede pushed the massive slabs of rock and metal filigree open with ease.  The high-vaulted ceiling hung far above their heads, somewhat obscured by the myriad of floating jewels held in mid air by some sort of magic.  Ornate flower pots and antique vases lined the walls and flanked the doors to the throne room, all of them overflowing with vibrant plants in every conceivable color.  Dedede and Dark both continued walking, being used to extravagant castle décor, but Meta hung back, surveying the greenery.

                The flowers were totally alien to him, though botany wasn’t his strong suit in the first place.  They were nothing like the sea-salt worn scrub that dotted the sandy hills around his base, but they bore a distinct resemblance to the orchids that Sailor Dee tended to in her free time.  A sharp whistle broke through his thoughts.

                “Meta, hurry up!” Dedede called out.  Meta jogged over to the two now impatient men, turning red underneath his helmet.  Being caught gazing at flowers whilst a potential crisis brewed wasn’t the best look.

                “This isn’t the time to stop and smell the roses,” Dark teased, though there was a distinct undercurrent of irritation in his voice. 

                “Alright, Taranza’s just ahead,” Dedede said, cutting off Meta’s incoming insult.  The two Knights went to push the door open when a broad arm halted Meta.  “Just Dark.”

                “Unfortunate,” Meta said flatly, backing off.  Dark pressed a hand to his chest in mock infatuation.

                “Worried about little old me? Oh Meta…” he tittered, swooning dramatically.  Meta’s eyes narrowed into slits.

                “Unfortunate that I do not get to witness you shattered due to the results of your own hubris,” he growled.  Dark only feigned a pout in response, before slipping through the heavy doors.  He shut them quietly and took a deep breath as anxiety bubbled up within his chest.  The throne room was wildly different from when Dark had last seen it, with potted plants filling the perimeter.  Taranza stood before the throne, humming quietly.

                “So you came,” Taranza said, his gentle voice still managing to unnerve Dark.  His four enchanted free-floating hands set down the empty watering cans they had been holding as he turned around, his two ordinary hands still clutching a full pail of water.  He delicately set the pail down beside him and walked forward to properly greet Dark. 

                “I need that shard.  The Mirror-World is in danger,” Dark said, his tone devoid of his usual mischief.  Taranza nodded and gestured behind him. 

                “It’s right here,” he said, and Dark followed his motions to gaze at the throne.  The shard lay leaned up against the ornate golden structure, but something else caught his eye as well.  A hauntingly familiar flower sat in a pot resting upon the throne.  Dark reached out with his magic, and just barely felt the thrum of a distinct aura.

                “Is that…?” he whispered, pain evident in his voice. 

                “Yes.  It’s all that’s left,” Taranza responded, his voice taking on a hollow quality.  Dark tilted his head up slightly to prevent the tears misting up his eyes from rolling down his cheeks.

                “Could I…?” he reached out in the direction of the flower.  Taranza’s expression hardened.

                “No,” he said lowly, positioning himself between Dark and the throne.  Dark bristled.

                “I loved her as well.  I only want a proper farewell,” he snarled.  Taranza clenched all six of his hands.

                “You wanted to corrupt her.  That isn’t love,” he hissed back.  Dark took a step forward so that he was toe-to-toe with Taranza. 

                “I never wanted this!  I wanted to help her!” he growled, baring his fangs with every word.  Taranza took a few deep breaths and backed away slightly.

                “I just want to know why,” he murmured. 

                “I loved her.  I wanted to help her become the ruler she wanted to be.  I never told her to mutate herself…” Dark responded.  He then shook his head as if he was trying to rid himself of the memory.  “I never knew that the ritual I lent my power to would do that…”

                “You did that?!” Taranza roared, conjuring a ball of magic and blasting it into Dark’s chest.  Dark was sent flying into a stone column, landing in a heap.  Before he could even register the pain, a spray of spider silk engulfed him, sticking him to the pillar.  Dark coughed a few times before regaining his voice.

                “I didn’t know!” he choked, a tear rolling out of his good eye.  Taranza strode over to the downed man, fury in his eyes. 

                “Do you even comprehend what you have caused?  The years and years of grief you made our kingdom go through?  I am still in mourning, Dark Meta Knight, but you aren’t,” he hissed.  Dark’s eyes went pure crimson as he thrashed against his bonds.

                “Of course I’m still in mourning you stupid fuck!  I miss her every goddamn day!  But I have a kingdom to run, and I can’t afford to act like a mopey piece of shit!” he spat. 

                “I have a kingdom to run as well.  And eliminating you is imperative to our safety,” Taranza said coldly, creating another larger ball of energy.  Dark braced himself for the impact and his inevitable shattering, shutting his eyes tightly.  But it never came.

                “Pardon my intrusion,” Meta said, deftly pushing Taranza back with a soft kick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting closer to entering the Mirror-World!


	11. Meta in the Middle

                Taranza slid back, barely keeping his balance.  Meta stood before him in a battle stance, but his eyes lacked any real malice. 

                “Finally I meet the original.  Your reputation precedes you, Sir,” Taranza said, bowing slightly.  Meta blinked, then offered a short bow in return.

                “I apologize for the circumstances under which we now meet,” he responded.  Behind him, Dark quietly freed himself from the silk, landing on his feet.  Taranza snapped his gaze to the man and shot another blast of silk towards him.  With a brilliant flash Meta unsheathed Galaxia and intercepted the web, which burned away into cinders on contact with his blade.  Dark then lunged at Taranza, kicking the embers into a whirlwind with his movements.  Meta quickly grabbed the back of Dark’s coat and flung him backwards, sending him tumbling into the wall.

                “Let me have my revenge,” Taranza said evenly, all six of his hands now glowing a purplish color.  Meta flicked his gaze between the two combatants, shifting his stance to allow a view of both.

                “There are more pressing matters to attend to,” he said, carefully watching Dark as he slowly stood.  Dark’s eyes were still a vibrant crimson, and they now glowed brightly enough to bathe his cheeks in a reddish hue. 

                “This is my only chance to make him pay before he escapes!” Taranza shot back, the magic around his hands growing steadily brighter. 

                “The fate of both kingdoms is at stake-“Meta was cut off as the two once again charged at one another.  Dark sent a jagged wave of glass at Taranza, who deftly shattered it with a blast of magic.  There was a ripple in the air around Dark as a mirror-clone materialized next to him, and Meta saw his opportunity.  He grabbed the arm of the clone and flung it into Dark, knocking him backwards but not off his feet as the sound of breaking glass echoed through the room.

                “You fucker,” Dark snarled, wiping blood away from the fresh cut across his cheek.  Dark drew his own blade and darted towards his new target.  Meta grit his teeth and flourished his cape.  Dark’s eye went hazy for a moment as something he could not comprehend occurred before him.  Meta then reappeared behind Dark and grabbed his arm, twisting it painfully behind him.

                “Will you two stop fighting like children for one moment!?” Meta roared, pushing Dark’s arm further into his back.  Taranza let the ball of magic in his hands dissipate and looked sheepishly at the floor. 

                “Ow ow ow!  Fine, just let me go!” Dark squawked, stumbling forward as Meta released his grip.  He shook out his arm, glaring at Meta.

                “We must access the Mirror-World to prevent a great threat from being unleashed,” Meta explained, turning to Taranza but keeping an eye on Dark.  Taranza searched Meta’s eyes for any sign of deceit and found none.

                “What’s going on?” he asked. 

                “They’re going to let a very dangerous person out of her prison who can possibly destroy both of our worlds,” Dark interjected, holding a hand over the cut on his cheek.  Taranza put a hand to his chin, deep in thought.

                “They’re right, Taranza.  Let em go,” Dedede said, walking in through the open throne room doors.  He surveyed the shattered glass scattered around the room, and the blood seeping down Dark’s face.  “You just can’t behave yourself, can ya?” he added, looking at Dark.

                “He attacked me first!” Dark snapped, pointing at Taranza. 

                “For once, he is not lying,” Meta added. 

                “Look, we just really need that shard.  I know you’re suspicious, but I know Meta.  And Meta wouldn’t ask for the shards if it wasn’t real serious,” Dedede said, ignoring the two knights.  Taranza gave Dedede a long look, and then sighed.  

                “Alright,” Taranza said, no emotion in his tone.  He walked to the throne and retrieved the shard from behind it, handing it gently to Dedede.  Dedede gave the shard an intense look before handing it off to Meta. 

                “You two get goin’.  I’ll stay here for a lil bit,” he said, giving Taranza a concerned look.  The man’s expression was totally blank.

                “Of course.  I will contact you when this is resolved,” Meta said, slipping the shard into his cape.  He strode quickly out of the room, followed closely by Dark.  The two men practically jogged to the Xiphos, with Dark matching Meta’s frantic pace.

                “Why’re you running?” Dark asked, standing beside Meta as the staircase extended from the plane. 

                “This entire area smells of grief.  I can sense it,” he muttered, darting up the stairs as soon as they stopped moving.  Dark followed, frowning deeply.

                “You can sense that sort of stuff?” he asked.

                “Somewhat.  I can only sense negative emotions,” Meta responded.  He then gestured towards a seat.  “Sit.”

                “Why?” Dark said, sitting before he could really process the command.  Meta reached into his cape and procured a small first-aid kit and a small towel.  He tossed the towel to Dark.

                “I do not know.  Clean your wound before you get blood on the upholstery,” he said flatly.  Dark gently cleaned the cut on his face, taking care to not restart the flow of blood.  Thankfully, the towel was plush and soft, allowing it to not catch on the scab forming over the cut.  He then handed the soiled item back to Meta, who grabbed it with no hesitation.  “It is only blood,” he muttered, noticing Dark’s disgusted expression.  He swiftly stuck the towel in a plastic bag from his cape and slipped it back into his pocket dimension. 

                “You still shouldn’t be getting your hands all over it,” Dark said.  Meta shrugged slightly, opening the first-aid kit and retrieving a bandage.

                “Are you indicating that you carry some sort of disease?” Meta teased, peeling open the package and pulling off the backing of the bandage.

                “I’m not diseased you bastar-“Dark was cut off by Meta roughly grabbing his chin and pressing the bandage over the cut.  He was quickly released, but his cold skin still burned with heat where the other’s gloved hand had been. 

                “There.  It was bothering me,” Meta said coldly, turning and heading to the cockpit.  Dark touched where the other’s hand had been, scowling as he felt the heat radiating from his cheeks.  In the cockpit, Meta gazed at his hand for a long moment, his fingers still slightly cooler than usual from Dark’s icy skin.  He shook his thoughts away and hopped into the captain’s seat, grabbing the intercom.

                “Next stop: Dedede’s castle,” he intoned, voice crackling through the speakers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Dark's sword is named Obscura. I just couldn't find a way to introduce the name in the story.


	12. Current Events

                The dark waters of Olive Ocean were totally still this far down, the only movement being the shadowy figures of ocean creatures flitting about.  Waves roiled and crashed into one another at the cliff base above, but here a deathly calm reigned.  The gloom of the depths was broken somewhat by a golden frame that lay wedged face-up between several obsidian boulders.  Large glass shards lay scattered about the seafloor around it, gleaming in the darkness. 

                Suddenly, a man clad in blues and purples slipped from the frame, the shock of the cold water causing him to suddenly inhale, drawing the icy liquid into his lungs.  Meta panicked, trying to push himself towards the surface, following the bubbles in their journey.  His cape melded into his wings, which he then unfurled and flapped furiously as he pushed at the water.  Meta watched the surface draw closer, but it was still so far away.  Darkness began to encroach on the edges of his vision as his lungs screamed for air.  His movements began to slowly falter.

                A hand soon crept through the frame as well, recoiling slightly at the shock of the icy water.  It slipped back into the shattered mirror before another figure surged through, deftly pumping his arms and legs in tandem with his tattered wings.  Dark shot upwards through the gloom, thankful that his naturally lower body temperature would buy him a few more minutes in the freezing currents of Olive Ocean.  His eyes widened as he spotted Meta drifting motionless above him, and he grabbed the man as he continued to swim upwards, barely slowing at the additional strain.  The churning currents began to buffet him as he ascended, and he grit his teeth at what he was going to have to do.

                Dark didn’t stop beating his wings as he broke the surface, propelling himself with some difficulty above the turbulent waters with his unconscious cargo in tow.  He quickly lurched sideways as he spotted a nearby alcove, his strength draining with every flap of his damaged wings.  Dark inched lower and lower as he approached his destination until Meta’s legs were skimming the water.  He scowled at this and spent his final reserves of energy on a few final powerful flaps of his wings.  The action practically hurled the two men onto the small beach, sending them head over heels until Meta’s limp body came to rest atop Dark.

                Dark pulled himself up and shook Meta.  After garnering no response, he gently pushed the man off him, taking a closer look.  His blood chilled as he noted the lack of movement in Meta’s chest.

                “Fuck fuck fuck…” he breathed, kneeling beside Meta and pulling off the man’s helmet, preparing to begin CPR.  It only took a slight push to Meta’s chest for the man to begin violently coughing, and Dark rolled him onto his side as he began to vomit seawater.  Dark let out a heavy sigh of relief and patted the man’s back as he continued to retch and cough, murmuring words of encouragement.  Several minutes passed before Meta caught his breath and rolled onto his back, still panting.  His lips were tinged blue, and his eyes had a hazy quality to them.

                “What happened?” he wheezed.  Dark gave him a patronizing pat to the chest.

                “You didn’t bother to check the other side of mirror before jumping through, dipshit,” Dark teased, though there was an odd undercurrent of anger to his tone.  Meta’s skin tone was steadily improving, and his eyes were becoming more focused.

                “You saved me?” Meta asked, turning his head to peer up at Dark.  Meta looked so vulnerable like this, shivering and sprawled in the sand.  His hair was soaked and splayed over his face, obscuring his eyes.  Dark resisted the strange impulse to brush it aside.

                “Yes, I did indeed drag your soggy, sorry ass to shore,” Dark sniffed.  Meta managed to sit up with some effort, slumping forward slightly as he endured another coughing fit.  He then went silent and gazed out over the wave-worn shore.

                “Thank you.  I have never been a capable swimmer,” he mumbled, startling Dark.  He turned to look at the man, and Dark reddened slightly at the intense gaze. 

                “You live by a goddamn ocean and you can’t swim.  Incredible,” Dark huffed, chasing away the strange feeling in his chest.  Meta narrowed his eyes, scowling.

                “I am capable of swimming.  I merely happen to not be the most proficient at the activity,” he snapped.  Dark rolled his eyes.

                “You weren’t breathing when I pulled you out, moron.  Get better,” he drawled.  Meta blinked, and then squinted at Dark.

                “…Were you…Concerned about me?” he asked incredulously.  Dark stiffened, his smirk falling away into a thin frown.  Why was he so concerned?  He did need Meta’s help to take back his kingdom, but the panic that had gripped him when he noticed that Meta wasn’t breathing came from something else. 

                “A corpse can’t help me take back the throne!  And if you die, then I can die, remember?!” he snarled, the words coming out louder than intended.  Meta snorted derisively, red tinging his irises. 

                “Of course.  I am only a means to an end,” he hissed, gritting his teeth.  Was that disappointment in his tone?  Why did Dark hope it was?

                “Fine, I’ll admit I was worried about losing my favorite person to torment,” Dark amended, acutely aware of his warming cheeks.  Meta gave him a long look, the tinge in his eyes turning to green.

                “Do you consider me an ally?” he asked quietly.  Dark’s cheeks were burning now, and he was certain that Meta had to have noticed.  He looked down, tracing a pattern in the sand as he thought.

                “Do you?” he muttered, bracing himself for a sharp-tongued retort.  When none came, he glanced at Meta.  The other man was gazing at the sky, deep in thought.

                “Somewhat,” he said cryptically, donning his helmet and standing, “And you?”

                “I mean, after all the help you’ve given me, it sort of has to be a yes,” Dark mumbled, standing as well but keeping his gaze away from Meta. 

                “Hm,” Meta responded, turning towards the cliffs behind them and looking up.  Dark let out an indignant yelp as Meta suddenly grabbed his wrist and yanked him closer.

                “The fuck?!” he squawked.  Meta ignored him as he scooped the man up, thankful that the man was a flying creature like himself and thus just as light. 

                “Hold on,” he said, unfurling his wings to their full span.  A few powerful wingbeats sent them aloft, and Meta rapidly ascended the cliff face as Dark clung to him in terror.  His damaged wings prevented him from reaching these speeds, and he felt his stomach churn as the two continued to rocket upwards.  Finally, Meta cleared the cliff’s edge and slowed, gently touching down amongst the sea spray worn scrub.  He set Dark back on his feet and watched with amusement as the man nearly toppled over.

                “Give me a warning before you do this shit!” Dark cried, still swaying slightly.

                “If I gave you ample warning, you would have worked yourself up in anticipation,” Meta replied, scanning the horizon.  It was night here, but the moon was full and cast a bright silver light over the landscape.  “Where do we head now?”

                “Through the Radish Ruins,” Dark said, regaining his balance.  He pointed out over a lush forest, towards several crumbling towers jutting out above the canopy.  Meta gazed at their destination for a moment before nodding.

                “Then let us begin,” he intoned.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhat of a filler chapter here to get to the next fight scene!

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write some dark humor and this came out. Fluffy pairings are my favorite but twisted ones can be fun as well! Anyway, next chapter with be pretty much all Dark so prepare for him being an awful person.


End file.
